Insane City (8 page)

“Who been giving them cocktails?”

“Marty,” said Seth into the phone, “are they giving you cocktails?”

“Oh yes,” said Marty. “Yum. Also they’re serving paella.”

Seth nodded at LaDawne.

LaDawne shook her head. “Your friends making a big mistake.”

“Marty,” said Seth into the phone. “You need to get out of there, OK? Right now. Marty? Marty?”

“He is busy,” said a woman’s voice.

“Hey!” said Seth. “Put Marty back on! Hello? Hello?”

Nothing.

“Shit,” said Seth. “What’s going to happen to them?”

“If they lucky,” said LaDawne, “they wind up with a big bill on they credit card. I mean,
real
big. If

they lucky, that’s all.”

“What if they’re not lucky?” said Seth.

“You better hope they lucky,” said LaDawne, pouring herself some more champagne. “Also you

better find some other way to get me my two hundred dollars real soon. Wesley ain’t gonna wait for me

all night. He gonna come looking. You don’t want that.”

“Oh God,” said Seth. “What am I gonna
do
?”

“Maybe there’s an ATM machine,” said Cyndi.

“Here?” said Seth, looking around the suite.

“No, like, in the lobby somewhere.”

“Oh, right. OK, could you stay here? In case Duane comes back with my suitcase?”

“OK,” said Cyndi.

Seth left the suite, weaved his way down the corridor, found the elevator, found—with some effort—

the
L
button and finally returned to the lobby, occupied at that very late hour only by Robert, still manning

the front desk. His eyes were wary as Seth approached, but his smile remained professional grade.

“May I help you, Mr. Weinstein?” he said.

“Yes,” said Seth.

This was followed by a thirty-second pause, during which Seth tried to remember why he had come

to the lobby.

Finally Robert, not giving up on the smile despite the fact that he was working a double shift and had

been on duty for nearly ten hours battling a case of Irritable Bowel Syndrome that would bring down a

water buffalo, said, “How,
specifically
, may I help you?”

“She’s in my room,” said Seth. “Whashername.”

“The young lady?” said Robert.

“No,” said Seth. “Another one.”

“I see,” said Robert.

“I didn’t . . . I mean,
she
didn’t,” explained Seth. “At all. But Wesley will
not
be happy.”

“And so . . .” said Robert.

“And so what?”

Robert sighed a sigh that was not one hundred percent professional. “And so how may I help you?”

“Oh yeah! Do you have an ATM machine? Here?”

“Yes, we do,” said Robert. “You go down this corridor, then turn left, and it’s in an alcove on your

right just before the restaurant.”

“Great,” said Seth. He weaved his way into the corridor, trying to focus on the directions. Something

about a restaurant. He made a left and there it was ahead, the restaurant, which was closed. There was an

alcove to the right and a door to the left. Seth frowned, trying to remember the directions, then turned left,

pushing the door open. He realized he was now outdoors. Had Robert said something about going

outdoors?

“Hello, Seth.”

Seth whirled, almost falling, searching for the source of the voice.

“Over here.”

He saw her then, sitting on a bench alongside a walkway. Seth smelled the sweet aroma of weed.

“Hey, Meghan,” he said.

“What’s up?” she said.

“I’m looking for a cash machine.”

“There’s none out here that I know of,” she said. She held out a glowing joint. “Have some.”

Seth shook his head. “I don’t think so,” he said.

“Why not?”

“I’m already messed up. Plus . . .” He hesitated.

“Plus what?”

“There’s a stripper in my room.”

“I know. I met her.”

“No, not her. Another one.”

“Wow. Two strippers. You dog.”

“No, they’re not . . . I mean, OK, one is, but she didn’t. But I have to pay her two hundred dollars.

Which I don’t have. Or Wesley will come.”

“Wesley?”

“Her boyfriend. I don’t want to meet Wesley.”

Meghan took a hit, held it, eased it out, then said, “You want me to tell Mike?”

“What?”

“Daddy has these guys, for security. Believe me, however much you don’t want to meet Wesley,

Wesley doesn’t want to meet Daddy’s security guys even more.”

Seth shook his head. “No,” he said. “I don’t want your dad to know about this.” He rubbed his hair

with both hands. “I just want the stripper to go away and whashisname to come back with my suitcase and

Marty and Kevin and Steve to not be killed by the Russian women and please God just let this fucking

night be
over
.”

Meghan took another hit. “Sounds like somebody’s not having the bachelor party of his dreams.”

“No,” said Seth.

“Sure you don’t want some?” she said, holding the joint out again. “It’ll calm you down.”

“You think?”

Meghan nodded, exhaling.

“Maybe one hit,” said Seth, taking the joint. He hadn’t smoked weed for a couple of years; his

recollection was that it made him fall asleep. He took a hit, held it. On the exhale, he said, “Is Tina

asleep?”

“Not when I left. She was talking with Mother about the dinner. Something about forks.”

“Forks,” said Seth. He took another hit.

“I think it was the dessert forks,” said Meghan.

“Ah,” said Seth. “Got to have those. For the dessert.”

Meghan smiled. “I bet you’ll be glad when this is all over with.”

“Yeah.” Seth took another hit, handed the joint back to Meghan. “Can I ask you something?” he said.

“Sure.”

“Why does Tina want to marry me?”

Meghan coughed out some smoke. “Seriously?” she said.

“Yeah.”

“Because she loves you.”

“But
why
does she love me? I’m a fuckup.”

“No you’re not.”

“Meghan, look at me. I’m not even at my own bachelor party.”

“OK, tonight you’re kind of a fuckup.”

“But also in general. Compared with all her genius lawyer friends. And perfect family.”

“We’re not perfect. Believe me. What we are is rich.”

“That’s another thing. I tweet about douche. I’ll never make as much money as Tina. Never. And I’ll

never give a shit about half the shit she gives a shit about.”

“Nobody will ever compete with Tina in the field of giving a shit.”

“But I’m not even
close
. Meg, seriously, the truth, why does she want to marry me?”

“Well, why do you want to marry her?”

“Because I could never do better. She’s smart and funny. At least she can be funny, when she’s not

managing forks. And she’s
unbelievably
hot.”

“You’re not so hard on the eyes yourself.”

“But there’s lots of good-looking guys who’d marry her. Why’d she pick me?”

Meghan took a long, contemplative hit, then said, “OK, first of all, you’re nice. A lot of these guys

after her, they’re assholes. You’re not an asshole.”

“That’s it? She wants to marry me because I’m not an asshole?”

“If you knew the kind of assholes that were always swarming around Tina, and her money, and her

dad’s money, you’d give not being an asshole a lot more credit. Also, I think it kind of helps that you don’t

give a shit.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, this way, she can be the one deciding what gets given a shit about. There’s no conflict.

She’s in charge of a hundred percent of the shit giving. Tina really likes being in charge.”

“So I’m, what, the faithful dog? The good little wife?”

“No,” said Meghan, leaving it there, which Seth understood to mean, basically, yes.

“Shit,” he said.

Meghan studied the tiny charred joint remnant, then flicked it onto the perfect Ritz-Carlton grass.

“Kind of late to be thinking about this,” she said.

“I know. Everything happened so fast once we decided to get married. I thought we’d talk more

about getting married, but pretty much all we talked about was the wedding.”

Meghan put her hand on his. “Listen, Seth, it’s gonna be fine. Tina loves you, in her supergirl Tina

way.”

“Your parents hate me.”

“They don’t hate you.
Hate
is a strong word.”

“They hate me.”

“I admit you would not be their first choice.”

“I’m Jewish.”

“They have several Jewish friends.”

“Any non-billionaire Jewish friends?”

Meghan thought about that. “No,” she concluded.

“I’m a Jewish non-billionaire.”

“They really don’t . . .”

“I tweet about douche.”

“OK, but . . .”

“They hate that their daughter is marrying a douche tweeter.”

“Not for long.”

“What?”

“Mike’s going to set you up.”

“I won’t work for Mike. Tina knows that.”

“Right, she does, and Mike does. But he’ll set something up.”

“Set what up?”

“I dunno. One of his rich, powerful friends will make you an offer you can’t refuse.”

“What if I don’t want to do whatever it is?”

“Tina will want you to.”

“So, what, it’s all settled? Whatever I think?”

“Hey, Seth, relax. It’s a good life. You’ll be happy. Look at me. I’m happy.” She lit another joint.

“You are? Really, you’re happy?”

Meghan exhaled. “As a fucking clam.” She held the joint out to Seth.

He shook his head, rejecting both the joint and the worry-free future.

“No thanks,” he said. He stood, and suddenly the night was whirling around him. “Whoa!” he said,

staggering backward.

“I know,” said Meghan. “This is really good shit.”

Seth grabbed the back of the chair and held on, oscillating gently back and forth, a feather in the

breeze. “Can I ask you something?” he said.

“Sure.”

“You remember when I came out here?”

“Here, outside? Like, just now?”

“Yeah.”

She nodded. “I remember.”

“OK, do you remember
why
I came out here?”

Meghan frowned. “You were looking for something.”

“Right!” Seth was about to snap his fingers, then decided it was not worth the risk of releasing the

chair. “But what?”

Meghan frowned harder, then brightened. “A cash machine.”

Seth groaned. “Oh Jesus, that’s right. The stripper.”

“I’m telling you, Mike could arrange—”

“No,”
said Seth. “No Mike.”

“OK,” said Meghan.

“I’ll handle this. I just need to walk around a little first. Which way is the beach?”

“I think it’s over there.” Meghan gestured vaguely with the joint.

“OK,” said Seth. He released the chair, turned and began weaving toward the humid darkness

smothering the Atlantic.

“Be careful,” said Meghan. “Can’t have a wedding without the groom.”

“Or dessert forks,” said Seth, not looking back.

“Forks are important, too,” said Meghan, taking another hit.

8

Big Steve, Kevin and Marty had no idea how they wound up lying on the sidewalk in front of

the Sea Monkey Hotel. They remembered, vaguely, having drinks with some very hot Russian women. But

then . . . nothing.

Big Steve, the least wrecked of the three, noticed that a crowd had gathered in front of them. People

were standing over them, pointing, laughing, shooting cell-phone video.
What was going on?

With great effort, Big Steve sat up. He looked at Marty, lying next to him.

“Ohmigod,” he said. “Marty!” He shook Marty. “Marty!”

“What?” said Marty.

“You’re naked!”

Marty got his head up just enough to look down at himself.

“Oh Jesus,” he said.

Big Steve looked past Marty at Kevin. Kevin was not naked. But he was missing his pants.

The crowd was growing. From the distance came the sound of police sirens.

“We have to get out of here,” said Big Steve. He struggled to his feet. He then fell back down.

Kevin had his head up now.

“Marty,” he said. “You’re naked.”

“I know!” said Marty. “I’m fucking naked!”

“We have to get out of here,” said Big Steve, struggling to his feet again. “Kevin, give me a hand.

The police are coming.” Kevin also made it to his feet, and the two of them were able to prop Marty up

between them and stagger away from the crowd, down to the corner and onto a side street.

Seconds later, a police car shot past on the main street, then another.

“I’m fucking
naked
,” said Marty.

Kevin looked down. “Wait a minute,” he said. “Where’s my pants?” He stood up. “Where’s my

wallet?”

“Shit,” said Marty. “My wallet’s gone, too.”

Big Steve felt his pockets, relieved to find he had both his phone and his wallet. He was less